Home
by RickyRemembers
Summary: What turns a house into a home?


**Home**

You don't know where it started. You're not even sure if it's real. But it's yours and that's what made it worth believing in.

It was just a house to begin with. There was nothing special about it. It had doors with rusty hinges that creaked loudly whenever they were moved, cabinets that were gray and warped and gave you splinters whenever you opened them, and unpolished wooden floors that were so thickly covered in dust that your shoe prints were an inch deep.

You lived in it alone. You had no family, and the only people you did have that could be labeled as friends had homes of their own. You never even really bothered to clean it, save for making your bed in the morning and keeping the kitchen stalked. Your room had only the bare necessities; a bed, a trunk for your cloths and a bathroom with towels and a mirror. A photograph of your parents hung on your wall over you bed, but that still didn't make it home.

You would get up early in the mornings and go to work, and you would come back late at night. You would trudge up stairs and collapse onto a bed that didn't provide comfort after a long days work and you would fall into a heavy uneasy sleep.

It became routine. You hadn't been in your living room for over 3 months when you heard it. There was a bang and a lot of smoke and dust so thick you could not see who was standing in front of you. You didn't have to. You knew perfectly well who it was.

He didn't even talk to you for the first week he was there. He let you continue on with your routine, but there were things you started to notice. The floor no longer held onto your numerous foot princes, but instead had been restored to a deep oak brown. You would come home every day and another wall would be painted. Lights would be on when you returned, and you would often see him sitting in the kitchen reading and paying you no mind.

There were rooms in the house you'd never even been in. You'd simply left the doors closed. But as you would trudge up the stairs to your room, you would see these doors opened, and painted in bright colors, some red, some green, some silver, and some gold. And one by one, the doors stopped creaking.

You don't really remember when it was that he started acknowledging you. At first it was subtle glances, sometimes smiles. And then he would get up with you in the morning and tell you what you were having for dinner and to be home on time. And slowly you began to listen to him.

Your not sure when you started sleeping together. You just know that it happened. One night he just came into your room. When you woke up the next morning, he'd always be gone, waiting for you to come and wake him up.

The house got brighter everyday, as thought he was still doing things to it. Pictures hung around every corner, and some of them were people you didn't even know. You found yourself looking in some of the rooms just to see his touch. You found yourself wondering how he did it.

But not your room. He never touched your room. During the day he never even entered it. You weren't even sure he knew what it looked like. That was fine with you. Your room was yours, and you didn't need all that color and flaunt in your room. He could have the rest of the house. Just not your room.

You never really talked about anything important. There were days when you wondered what he was doing in your house. There were days when you would wake up and not know whether or not you had imagined it until you stepped out of your room.

You found yourself more and more motivated to get out of bed in the morning and go down to the kitchen just to see him humming and bustling next to the stove. You would go to work and come home for lunch just to see him. You found yourself watching the hours until you could get home for dinner.

One night you got home and there were no lights on. There was no smell of warm food wafting through the house. You stood in the entry way, looking around. You weren't sure if you imagined it or not. You didn't know what to do. So you stood there.

You stood there until his slim figure came wobbling down the stairs in his silver bathrobe. He turned on the lights and yawned. When he saw you he only raised an eyebrow.

Your felt so much relief that you collapsed. He came to your side, and you just held onto him. He kept asking you what was the matter, but you couldn't tell him. You could never admit how much you needed him.

So he just walked you up to your room and he went back to his and you stood there. You did something drastic that night. You went back downstairs and got a broom. You entered your room and turned on the light. You cleaned the floor until it shined. You scrubbed the walls to get all the grime off them. You fixed the broken leg of your bed. You pulled out all your photographs and hung them all on the walls. You hung the curtains around your bed. You even washed your mirror.

You stayed up all night. When you finished, you just sat down on the floor and looked at it. You saw the sun come up and watched the shadow move across your room.

You heard him coming, even in his slippers on the floor that didn't squeak you could hear him. He knocked and pushed open the door. He didn't say anything and neither did you. He sat down next to you and you found yourself watching him.

You don't know where it started. You're not even sure if he's real. But he's yours, and that what made you grab his hand. He's yours, and that's what made you kiss him.

He's your home, and that's what made you love him.


End file.
